Watson, What Have You Done?
by fox17hp
Summary: Sherlock noticed something wasn't right with his old colleague, just not right at all. After a few moments of silence he asked, "Watson, what have you done?" (Just a little something I thought of! NO SLASH, just please R&R!)
1. Nothing Major

**Okay, this is a little story that popped up in my head about a month ago... it was just out of nowhere. So, I understand if this may seem kinda weird, but oh well. Please R&R, and..**

**Disclaimer****: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes... but I wish I could meet him for REALZ**

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Grey. That was the only way to describe the day in London. Everything felt grey: the sky, the streets, even the people seemed a little grey. The only thing to top it off was a little rain, which looked like was going to happen. It was sometime in the late afternoon, probably three or four o'clock. Things that day were just one of those boring, grey days. Watson walked down the dark, quiet streets, leash in one hand and the other in the pocket of his coat. Gladstone hobbled along on his stubby legs, drooling as he went. John turned the corner to Baker street, already seeing the familiar door of his best friend's flat. Watson should have smiled that day, going to visit Sherlock Holmes... but nothing could make him smile on THAT day. He walked up the concrete steps after Gladstone, taking out a key. He put it in the lock on the door, turned the key, and pushed the dark door open. It slowly opened, creating an eerie creaking noise. Watson stepped inside, un-hooking the leash on Gladstone. The drooling bulldog ran off, just about sliding into the wall as he tried to turn into a room.

'_Probably going to drool on Mrs. Hudson... again.' _Watson figured, the thought making him conceal a little smile. He took off his brown top hat and coat, hanging them on the coat hanger by the staircase. John looked up at the ceiling, noticing things were very quiet...

'H_m.. usually Holmes is doing something loud..' _Watson walked up the stairs to see what the detective was up to. Every step echoed through the flat, making everything seem ghostly and empty. He walked up to the door, and opened it easily.

'_Strange.. he usually locks it or blocks the door with something...'_ Watson thought, walking into the dark room. All the windows were covered up, and the air was filled with smoke. In the darkness, Watson could make out the still form of Sherlock Holmes, curled up on the couch, back facing him. Watson walked closer, rolling his eyes. "You lazy cow." He muttered. But something wasn't right. Watson squinted his eyes, and noticed that Holmes was a little _too _ still. Something in John made him start to worry, and rushed over to the quiet detective, turning him onto his back. That's where he saw the large, bloody gash going down Holmes' chest. It was gruesome looking, even in the dark, and blood was all over his body and the couch.

_'It's not supposed to happen this way.' _He thought, freaking out inside. Watson put his two fingers on the side of Sherlock's neck, checking his pulse. The next moment made him jump. Sherlock's eyes burst open, and he sat up.

"What are you doing!?" Holmes shouted in a surprised voice.

Watson just about jumped out of his skin. He fell back, right into the table in the center of the room. He hit his head pretty hard on the end of it, groaning. "Holmes!"

Sherlock chuckled, now sitting properly on the couch. "Realistic, don't you think?"

Watson rolled his eyes. "You just about gave me a heart attack." Watson looked at the 'blood' on Holmes' shirt. "And what is that?"

Holmes looked down at his shirt. "Oh, that's just a little concoction I've made. Nothing major." He said with a slight smile.

John slowly stood up, hand over the new bruise on his forehead. He had been pranked... again. When he had still lived with Holmes, every now and then he would be pranked by the detective, who would be half drunk and extremely bored to do so. Watson walked over to the window on the other side of the room, aiming right at Holmes. The doctor quickly pulled the curtains open, the light of day flashing into the room.

"Aagghh!" Holmes yelped, covered his face with his hands, blinded by the light. He fell back, over the back of the couch. He landed on his face with a loud thud, along with a few noises of glass breaking.

John smiled. Payback. "It's just a little light, Holmes." He teased. "Nothing major."

Holmes looked up over the back of the couch glaring. Then John remembered why he was there in the first place. His smile slowly faded, and Watson put his hands in his pockets. "Anyway."

Holmes stood up, and sat back on the couch. "Why are you here Watson?" He asked, still glaring a little.

"Just, checking up on you." John replied, glancing up at the detective.

"Well, I'll have you know that I'm doing just fine on my own, and I don't need to be checked up on!" Holmes snapped. He didn't even know what he was saying. He really missed Watson greatly, and couldn't help but snap. He lowered his eyes. "I mean... I'm fine."

Watson nodded.. even though he knew something wasn't right with his old friend. He slowly walked over, sitting down beside him. "So, how have thing been?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Just the same, with cases and such. But Mrs. Hudson seems different." Holmes replied, still staring at the ground.

John smiled. "What's wrong with her this time, Holmes?" He asked.

Sherlock answered, "I believe she is in a relationship..."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

"Some man from the Yard."

Almost on cue, the two began to laugh. But Watson's chuckle seemed to die off a bit quick as he glanced down at his feet.

Sherlock noticed something wasn't right with his old colleague, just not right at all. He put on a serious face and after a few moments of silence he asked calmly, "What is it, John?"

Watson scratched the back of his neck. He sighed and said, "I'm really sorry, Holmes..."

The detective raised an eyebrow. He had trained his colleague well, and he could never figure out his thoughts anymore. "About.. what?"

John drew a shaky breath, and Sherlock could've sworn he saw tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry... I'll regret this, but.."

This next moment took Sherlock by utter surprise. John suddenly had his revolver out, and pointed at him. Why didn't he see this coming..? Why was Watson doing this? '_Someone must be blackmailing him..' _Holmes thought, before he looked up as he heard a _click._

"Watson, what have you done?"

John swallowed hard, yet his shooting-hand was deadly still. "I.. I'm sorry."

Holmes put a hand up in front of him. "Watson, I can help you.." He said, trying to just get John to stop.

"You can't this time.."

Sherlock looked up at his companion with true fear, his eyes glistened with, wait...were those tears?

"John..._please_."

_Bang!_

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**Alright, that was it. If you'd like me to go on with this, just leave me a quick Review and I'll get going on it! Also check out my fic- 'Aaron Blaze: The accident of Imagination' Series. There should be one in...**

**-MoviesSweeney Todd**

**Anyways, thanks for Readin!**

**~Fox.**


	2. News

**Alrighty! It's been a long time since I've written the first Chapter, and I apologize. Thank you for the reviews, and your creative ideas for what really happened to our favorite detective. I've considered some of them, but I think you'll enjoy what I have planned. Yes, this chapter is shorter, but I've been writing this for my English class. **

**This Chapter is more of Sherlock's "Friends" finding out of what just happened, and their reactions. So, I hope you'll like it, and please review! Your feedback is most helpful!**

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Lestrade sat behind his mahogany desk in his office, reading. Papers littered his desk, some finished, some needed to be read and signed. But he's been at it all day, and he needed a break. The room was silent. Every now and then there was the sound of the Inspector flipping a page, or the creak of his chair when he leaned back. He liked the silence, really. It was comforting to him. It was nicer than having someone always breathing down your neck as you look at some body, or a shattered window of a break-in. It's always been 'Murder Here!' or, 'Robery there!' The Inspector was quite annoyed with it now, and was finally getting used to the quiet today.

_Knock Knock Knock Knock!_

Lestrade flinched at the sudden noise. He looked at the door, when he heard another set of knocks, and a muffled "_Sir!" _

He sighed. Here we go again.

The door burst open, revealing a panting Constable Clarky. The tall man held his cap in his left hand, using the other to lean against the doorframe.

"What now?" Lestrage asked, with an annoyed tone.

"Sir... it's..." The taller man breathed.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "What?"

"You're.. not going to.. believe it..."

The Inspector was getting impatient. He stood up, setting his book on his desk. "For God's Sake, spit it out!"

"…It's...221b Baker Street."

**~?~¿~?~**

A young woman walked down the street. Her dark blue dress shined in the dull gray light as she walked up the steps into the Grand Hotel, winking at the doorman. He was young, a little handsome, but she knew better. There was only one man she loved, and it defiantly wasn't anyone like him. He was different than any other man she's ever met.

She stepped through the door, walking towards the front desk. Her heels clicked against the smooth surface of the marble floor, polished enough to see one's own reflection. The warm golden light of the chandelier was welcoming, and its glow complimented the woman's complexion perfectly. But she wasn't here to be beautiful- well, she was, in a way. She walked up to the desk, clutching a deep blue handbag that matched her dress. The man at the desk looked up at her, obviously liking what he was seeing.

"Well, hello madam. May I have your name, please?" He asked. The man was flirting, like any other. But he was a lot older that the young man she saw.

The woman only smirked, and that's when the man recognized her. He looked a tad surprised, and a bit embarrassed.

"My apologies, madam. He's in room 394." He grabbed a key from under the desk, and handed it to her. There was a small number attached to it, reading _R.394_. "He's on the 4th floor."

"Thank you." She turned, and walked towards one end of the double staircase, and walked up and up. When the woman came to the fourth floor, she walked down the hallway. She came to the large double-doors at the end of the corridor. It was pretty quiet down this particular hallway, not a single sound could be heard, with the exception of the woman's heels clicking against the floor.

The woman inserted the key into the lock of one of the doors, turning it with a _click!_ She slowly opened the door, walking into the large suite. The main room was very large, with a large fireplace ablaze opposite of the door. Furniture was placed perfectly, giving it the luxury that gave the Grand Hotel its name.

But there was something incorrect. The place, how lovely it looked, gave off an eerie feeling. The woman looked over, and there she saw him. He was sitting in a large chair, near the fireplace, with his back to the door. The top of his head was barely visible over the top of the tall chair, but his gloved hand was clearly visible on the arm of it. He spoke with a voice like true intelligent evil.

He nodded as well. The man paused, giving the room a chilling silence. "Good. I heard there was a little, hiccup, in the plans. Isn't that correct, Miss Adler?"

She looked at the man, confused. She tried to keep professional as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I suggest you take a trip to Baker Street. I believe our Doctor has lost his touch…"

**~?~¿~?~**

Mycroft Holmes walked down the hallway of his country home, signing papers as he went. For the record, he was completely nude, but no one else in the house seemed to take any notice. Well, Stanely, the Holmes family butler, might have, but he was too slow or too old to say anything.

The Goverment worker walked into the man room, dodging past an unexpected Stanely carrying a tray of tea.

"Ah, Stanely! Tea time already?" Mycroft said with a smile. He snatched his pocketwatch that happened to be sitting beside a lamp.

"Sir." A voice said by the door.

Mycroft turned to his colleague, James. He was silent most of the time, and was the only one who would listen to Mycroft's constant talking. "Ah, James. What is it?"

"An emergency telegram, sir." The thin man held out a small piece of paper.

Mycroft walked over, and took it. He opened the telegram, reading the ink black words. His usual smirk faded as his eyes scanned the paper.

He looked up at his colleague, and said, "Get a cab over here. We're going to London."

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**Well, there it is. It will be only a bit before chapter 3 is up. Do you think "News" Is a good name for this chapter? Post a review about it!**

**Thanks,**

**Fox~**


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